A Restaurant Formerly Known as Showa

It was busy in Koreatown that night. It’s usually busy in Koreatown. I was just walking around. Can’t remember why I was alone. I just was. I was hungry and I was high and I wanted to try something new. Be somewhere new. With all the lights and all the people, the cars shuffling around, even after more than a year of living in this neighborhood, this place felt foreign to me, so it excited me. I took my time. I basked in it.

I walked up some stairs and began to check out restaurants from the outside, peering into the windows, scanning for menus. I saw one. This one had some English. I read a few words before a little woman with glasses and red lipstick with hair that looked the color of straw appeared beside me and said, “You should come in!”

I was a little stunned, if I’m being honest. How do I explain this tactfully? Should I even be tactful? Of course I should, but have patience with me as I try to navigate the truth of it here and not sound like an asshole. It was a happy state of stunned she put me in. It wasn’t an attraction thing. She was smiling with kindness and she seemed to be genuine. She was also a she and she was petite and she was Asian. I could assume she was Japanese since it was a Japanese restaurant I was standing in front of but we were also in Koreatown. And this is also America so what the fuck.

But the real thing that caught me off guard was the fact that I, for all intent and purposes, was a brown dude, with a good size beard, a beanie on, my hands in the pockets of my jean jacket, at a pretty late hour, in America. So I guess what I’m trying to say is what that lady did was bold and nice and open-minded and I was surprised and delighted. I was flattered. So that’s why I said, “OK,” and let her lead me inside. I guess it’s that easy, huh?

The name of the restaurant was Showa. I don’t know what that means but I knew this was the first Japanese restaurant I’d voluntarily chosen since the one I’d worked at in Texas. That was five years ago. I sat at the sushi bar because that’s always the best seat. Behind the bar stood the sushi chef in his immaculate white coat, smiling benevolently. The restaurant had some people in it but there wasn’t a whole lot going on. I looked at the menu. It was small but I was familiar with a lot of the items. I was familiar because I’d worked at one of the best sushi restaurants in the country and I wasn’t shy to tell anyone about it.

But the first order of business was I ordered some soju. Hey, this was Koreatown, after all.

The lady’s name was Cindy. Cindy had that kind of air about her where she looked like she could be twenty-one or forty-two. Just good genes. I made a healthy order of food and the way she pursed her lips indicated she was satisfied with my order. She walked away to inform the kitchen.

It was a small place but I thought that was a good thing. Koreatown could have a hundred restaurants on a single block and this block was especially busy as hell. It was ballsy opening up a Japanese spot here, shoulder to shoulder with the heavy hitters. On the walls, I noticed there were some pieces of printer paper taped with specials markered on them. I didn’t like that. Someone new walked into the restaurant and Cindy and the rest of the staff greeted them aloud in Japanese, just like we did back when I worked at Uchi. I liked that very much. It made me miss my friends and that job and how I felt working there.

The soju went down nice and the food started coming out. A tuna sashimi crusted with peppercorn with a side of ponzu. Yellowtail with thin slices of habanero and squid inked tobiko. Both were great. The surprise was some kind of noodle dish that came out in a red spicy thick sauce with mushrooms and pork. The flavors were incredible. I loved it. I ate everything enthusiastically and finished my small bottle of soju, totally content. A tall skinny man, also wearing glasses, came up to me.

“We would like to send you something. On us. Is that OK?” he asked.

I blinked in disbelief. “Uh… sure! Thank you!”

It was another sashimi dish, colorful, delicious. I was grateful it was light because I was full but I would want to finish it because that’s how I was raised. I paid and tipped well and thanked the staff graciously and they seemed to be very happy to have had me. What a wonderful beautiful unexpected night, I thought to myself, walking on clouds the rest of the way back to my apartment.

*

I came back the next night. Tried more things. The same people were there. I was happy to see them. But there still weren’t very many people in the place. I was surprised. If people knew how good the food was and how nice the service was and how affordable it was, they’d have to appreciate this place.

After that, it was a couple weeks before I came back. I was with a friend this time. We were really able to attack the menu. We ordered a bunch and it made Cindy happy. We were sitting at the bar but there was no sushi chef. I wanted to ask Cindy but I thought it might be rude. I also noticed more paper taped up on the walls. Some of the items didn’t make any sense. I mentioned it to my buddy.

“Seems like if it’s a Japanese restaurant, they should stick to that. What the hell do they got quesadillas for?”

Well, we didn’t order any quesadillas, and the food seemed to still be fine even without the sushi chef. But I could tell the difference in the energy of the place. It’s important. To notice things like that. Energy is very important. And once you recognize it, you can’t go back to un-recognizing it. You live in that world now and there’s no returning to not knowing. That’s what makes this world so fucking hard to grow old in. Cindy sent us a free dish again. It made my friend’s face light up. I told him the story about how I met Cindy and how she came outside and invited me into the place and he agreed she seemed nice. I looked at her, and thought to myself, I hope this place does well, if only for Cindy.

*

I finally came by the place a couple weeks later with Lena. Cindy was there, as always, and sat us at a table in the corner. I hadn’t sat at any of the tables before. It didn’t seem right to sit at a sushi bar with no sushi chef.

I introduced the two of them.

“So nice to meet you!” Cindy said. “Finally, he brings his girlfriend. What took you so long?”

We all laughed. I ordered the stuff I knew. A good amount. Lena and I were good eaters. Cindy went to go get our soju. We were the only people in there. The music seemed to be too loud for us being the only ones in there. It was as if it were playing for a crowd that was invisible to us. Well, it is just a Tuesday, I thought to myself.

“I haven’t had Japanese food this good since…”

“I know, I know,” Lena said. “You’ve told me a few times already. We never eat Japanese food. I’m looking forward to seeing what all the hype is about.”

The food started coming out. There were some misses. I wanted to keep quiet about it until the tuna sashimi came out with some avocado and tortilla strips.

“The fuck is this?” I said.

“I’ve been noticing the specials taped up on the wall.”

I sighed. “I mean, I understand what’s happening. They’re trying to appease the crowds. Except there is no crowd. What they had originally, that’s what they did so well! All they had to do was stick to it and get the attention. I mean, I hate to say something like this, but they don’t even have an Instagram. You gotta have stuff like that these days. How else do people know?”

Lena nodded.

“Maybe I could talk to the manager.”

“What would you say?”

“I’d tell them I could help them. I want to help them. I think this place could be special. I mean, we live right around the block. I’d come here every day if I had time. But there’s so many other people living here. They probably have no idea. This neighborhood is so congested, they’re being swallowed up by everything else. If I could just talk to whoever runs things and give him some suggestions…”

We finished eating and thanked Cindy as always. I could see something had changed in her eyes too. I’ll come back, I thought to myself. But I never did.

*

Lena got a job in the neighborhood at a really great place, several blocks up from where we lived. A good walk. I’d gone up to walk her home one night. As we walked down sixth, we passed the strip mall where Showa was. I noticed the lights were off. Everything else around it was open and buzzing, but their lights were off. I felt awful.

“They’re gone,” I said to Lena. “I never did go back and talk to the manager.”

I felt like shit.

“It’s a tough business. And this is a tough town. Not everyone’s gonna make it.”

But what a shame. Because people like Cindy ought to. I hope you still do. Where ever you end up, ole girl.